Footloose
by Ten-Faced
Summary: She's learning how to walk on newly-freed feet. He's not sure of how to be anything except fretful and gentlemanly. Sometimes you just have to cut loose. Eventual Edward/Sieglinde.
1. sweep me off my feet

_Deep way down in your heart_  
><em>You're burning yearning for some<em>

_Kenny Loggins, "Footloose"_

* * *

><p>The biggest problem she faced in Britain was not, as she had expected, her manners. Sebastian went over the very basics of the modern world's etiquette with her on the way to the island empire, and when she was settled with the Midfords the marchioness had been thorough in her studies to the point where Sieglinde was convinced that she would have the very best manners in the whole empire when the blonde finally gave her approval.<p>

Nor was it fitting in. The cover story of her being a distant cousin of a Lord Diedrich sent over to study in Britain had been considered acceptable, given the Midford family's actual connection with the German noble. No one questioned the dark-haired German girl's claim to being related to a man not often seen in British society, and Elizabeth made things extremely smooth for her with her vibrant acceptance of the dark-haired girl with an odd gait and broken English.

Her biggest problem was moving, and she knew she was foolish for having forgotten about that particular dilemma. Sieglinde no longer had Wolfram to carry her around, and while the lack of constant binding was beginning to loosen her feet, she knew that they would never heal to the point of returning to their original state before they had been broken. They would forever be deformed, proof that once she had been cast in the role of the Green Witch of Werewolf Forest.

Occasionally, the Marquis, who had all but adopted her into the Midford family, would carry both her and Elizabeth in a considerable show of strength. In those times she was somewhat free, though even the Leader of the British Knights couldn't carry his two girls around forever. It was considered inappropriate, especially for a girl of her age who wasn't even a relative of his.

Here, she had no witch balloons, no loyal Wolf to carry her to wherever she wished. She was well and truly immobile most times, when her wish to break out of the small cage her world had been had finally come true and she had places she could go to. Her feet were still too tender, too useless to walk on properly. The shoes made especially for her feet helped, but only marginally. Walking hurt, and it tired her out far too quickly.

Due to her 'condition', Sieglinde had to rely walking stick, like the ones gentlemen used. She could only use it when she was at the Midford Manor, though, and when they didn't have company. This rule she imposed on herself for the sake of the family that had taken her in. Well-respected as they were, she had learned that society was filled with vultures hungry for gossip, just as she had once believed that men were filled with nothing but lust.

The last thing she wanted to do was drag the Midford name through the mud by toting around a walking stick like a man. When parties were hosted at the manor – and, due to the Marquis having a high position with plenty of contacts in high-ended society, there were a great number of parties held – she chose to stand to the side, as out of sight as possible, and retired as early as she could, excusing herself on account of 'not feeling well'. When she didn't 'feel well' even Lizzie, who always encouraged her to be present at parties to learn more about society, let her retreat back to the safe privacy of her room.

She didn't _have_ to leave. She could have stayed, and portrayed herself as a shy wallflower too nervous to speak broken English. She had certainly perfected the act a long time ago, after learning how to hold her tongue.

She chose not to stay because she couldn't bear the sight of ladies fluttering around, dancing or walking or moving. Ladies in the modern world, a place that wasn't a village enclosed from everything else filled with no one but women, weren't to be free.

They seemed a lot freer to her, with their functioning feet. Sieglinde couldn't quite look at them as she had the women back in the village. Back when she had been Sieglinde Sullivan, Lord and Green Witch of the Forest, the women around her could move freely with their healthy feet, but they had depended, had looked upon her to protect them. She had been given responsibility and authority with her bound and broken feet, and she had been proud of them.

Now she just had broken feet that she felt annoyed at sometimes. Now she was just Sieglinde Diedrich, a girl sent by a distant relative to a distant land who liked to study the illnesses that ravaged humanity and how to combat them, although that last part wasn't known by socialites coming to enjoy parties held by one of the most prestigious families in English society.

This time, the party was held to celebrate Edward Midford's birthday. The eldest son's birthday had coincided with a vacation from his school, and now he was home in time for a party.

Sieglinde had offered her congratulations earlier on; she only ever saw him a handful of times due to him spending most of his time at his boarding school, and didn't feel comfortable enough to stay with him much longer. Before the painful lessons of etiquette and social norms had been drilled into her head by his mother, Sieglinde had flirted with him in a manner similar to – but not _quite_ as forthcoming – as the one she had attempted to use on Sebastian and Ciel, back in the village. He hadn't understood her words, as she had spoken German, but he had gotten the basic message.

That time, she had learned that the elder Midford was an incredibly prudish young man.

After the lessons that had been ingrained into her by the marchioness, she had been too mortified to face him properly in conversation as she realized what her past self's actions had meant. He had apparently felt the same, and they had never truly talked or spent time together in each other's company.

Ciel was also present, but the young earl had most of his attention held by Lizzie. Her brother seemed irritated at having his sister's attention stolen from him, but friends and guests held him back from charging towards the younger boy and stealing her back.

Sieglinde leaned against the wall behind the curtain where she hid herself. Her feet hurt. Her hands, bracing against the wall, wished for the grip and support of the cane.

Perhaps now would be a good time to sneak away to her room. She could always have one of the servants bring her food from the party, and spend the rest of the night in quiet reading a book. The marquis and marchioness had bought her another armful of new books with fascinating information on cures and medicines, and Lizzie was always glad to recommend the latest romance novels.

She peeked out from behind the curtain. The guests were distracted, scattered across the ballroom and having a good time. Now would be her chance.

Sieglinde slipped out from her hiding place just as Edward Midford was pushed by a classmate that had been invited to the party, and stumbled into her.

She had been moving. Her feet could barely brace herself, let alone the weight of a young man. He had fallen onto her.

They both fell to the ground, her with a cry and him with a muffled curse.

Her backside hurt, but it was made miniscule to the blood rushing to her face. Everyone in the ballroom was staring at her. _Everyone_!

This wouldn't do – she couldn't sneak away while everyone held her as the center of attention. She would have to hide again, and wait for another opportunity. Surely they would forget, and then eventually lose interest?

Edward helped her up with heartfelt apologies. He let her take his arm and then discreetly pulled her up before she had to make another spectacle of herself struggling to get up to her hurting feet, apologizing the entire time and shifting the blame all onto himself. Well, himself and his friend, who had pushed him.

The friend apologized as well. She nodded in acknowledgement, face still too burning for her to be nice or coy, and tried to slip away, but Edward was holding onto her.

Sieglinde tugged lightly at first, but he didn't seem to get the message. She would have resorted to harder tugging for him to relinquish her arm, and by extension herself, but he chose to start talking, promising that he would be at her side for the whole night as a way to make up for his hideous mistake. He looked like he had forgotten about their first encounter, or at least was willing to wipe the slate clean and let the past die.

There were still people whose attention was diverted at her. She didn't want to disgrace the Midfords by causing a scene at their own party, or the absent Lord Diedrich that had been kind enough to let her use his name for a new life outside of the world of lies she had lived in so far.

And, she didn't want to avoid a member of the family that had taken her in. If he was willing to start anew, well, so was she. She smiled like she had practiced in the mirror and nodded.

For the rest of the night, Edward all but carried her with one arm somehow, managing to support her entire weight as he swept her around, introducing and acquainting her to all the guests. His school friends were charmingly funny with him around, instead of awkward or stony. Knights welcomed him like a son and her like a lady they had known all her life, laughing with jolly kindness.

"And you know Earl Phantomhive," Edward said. When she curtseyed to the best of her abilities for the sake of formalities, he switched arms. One minute he had been supporting her on her left side, and then he was on her right, holding her other arm as tightly as he had been her left. Sieglinde hadn't even realized the change until he had finished adjusting his firm but not painful grip.

When she turned to him, he gave her a quick wink before sweeping back into a disapproving spiel at Ciel about his sister.

_That sly – _

She found herself grinning widely, and it was lucky that the current guests she was speaking to were people who had known her before she had learned manners of the modern world, because she couldn't stop. And for once she didn't even mind that before tonight, there had been a barrier of awkwardness that had stopped her from interacting with her companion.

When the party was over and the guests were either leaving or retreating to the guest rooms for the night, she paused before she released her grip on Edward's arm. "Thank you," she said, and she had the courage to look him in the eyes as she said so.

He was blushing. "It was no problem," he said.

She gave him a devious grin – old habits that surfaced over even the habits ingrained into her by the marchioness – before entering her room. He had been kind enough to all but carry her to the entrance of her bedroom even after an entire evening of supporting virtually all of her weight.

Her maid helped her change to sleeping attire, and then she was crawling into her bed.

_The party_, she thought with her feet hurting much less than she had expected, _had been fun._

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><p>an 1: Sieglinde Sullivan has become one of my most favourite characters, and I got infected with the urge to ship her with Edward Midford.<p>

an 2: special thanks to Indochine, who introduced me to this (crack) pairing (that hopefully becomes canon) as well as sharing some of her head canons with me. They're absolutely wonderful and I eagerly await the day she publishes her Kuroshitsuji stories.

an 3: let's pretend that Sieglinde has absorbed the English language like a boss/linguistic sponge (hey she's a genius. that's my story/excuse and I'm sticking to it).

an 4: canon-compliant up to chapter 99.


	2. cinderella

With the Midfords being as popular as they were, it was only natural that they received bountiful invitations to parties held by others for all sorts of occasions. With Edward home, the invitations seemed to only double in amount.

Sieglinde had to wonder as the marquis debated over the merit of attending one gathering over the other; how many parties could the people of this world enjoy? Did they not grow tired of dressing fancy and either visiting others, or working to host?

But it was only polite to attend, and so the Midfords chose one dinner held by a fellow British Knight of Lord Midford's.

It would be, Sieglinde was told, a simple, small-scale dinner party. She had been invited as well.

After some deliberation, she said that she would attend. Normally she would have turned down the invitation as politely as she could, making excuses about poor health or prior engagements, but the last party she had attended had been pleasant, and she had enjoyed it. Perhaps parties weren't as bad as she had initially judged them to be.

The seamstress Nina Hopkins was called in for her talented services, and Sieglinde marvelled as she unleashed her skill. Sebastian, after making her an example of a modern, outside-world outfit for her out of her bedspread, had humbly said that his skills paled in comparison to a professional's. At the time she had thought he was being humble, and he was, but when Nina Hopkins was placed in the equation that polite humility became truth. The woman was a demon when her work became involved, and nothing short of heaven or hell would stop her.

Sieglinde liked her. At their first meeting the woman had showered her with compliments of all sorts about her hair, skin, face and features and promised her the best of her work to really make her shine.

That had been enough to warm her up to the seamstress, but the skilled woman had truly earned her favour when, at the sight of her bound feet, Nina had embraced her with all the fierce warmth of a friend before chirping that she would work double time to make a dress even a princess would be jealous of. She hadn't tried to politely pretend that she had seen nothing like some people had done upon sighting her feet, or made a fuss to hide her disgusted reaction. She had reacted with empathy and concern, and those reactions had been genuine.

Sieglinde appreciated that about Nina.

Now Nina delivered on her promise again. Lizzie was stunning in a silver dress with golden trims; Edward was sharply dressed in a suit that seemed to have been sewn on him; and as for Sieglinde herself, Nina had created a magnificent masterpiece of an emerald gown the same shade as her eyes. The seamstress had outright forbidden her from black gowns unless the situation was dire, claiming that she needed more colour and calling her Snow White.

Sieglinde, personally, thought she would be more of a Cinderella, what with her small feet and custom made shoes no one else would be able to fit into unless they mutilated their own feet, but deeply appreciated Nina's words nonetheless. That woman had a heart of gold and a soul of silver. She watched Nina and Edward's one-sided debate that resulted in the older woman baring her bare legs for all present to see, and Edward stuttering and blushing like mad with great glee, cackling sometimes when the urge to laugh became too great. Lizzie joined her in laughing, and the two giggled for a very long time, even after Nina had left with a cheerful _toodles_.

Then it was the day of the dinner, and she was in the carriage with Lizzie and Edward. The marquis and marchioness were already there, having made a detour that ended up becoming a shortcut.

Sieglinde glanced out of the carriage window. The manor they were rolling up at was smaller than the one owned by the Midfords, but it was clearly well-cared for, and beautiful in its own way. And, she noted, there was a large herb garden just off to the side.

The carriage rolled to a stop, and the Midford footman helped Lizzie and her out. She grimaced at the stretch of gravel to the front door, and had half a heart to call the footman back so he could help her to the door. Once she was at the door, she would stay within one general area or find a place to sit. That much, she thought she could manage on her own.

Edward took her arm. "Well, let's not keep our hosts waiting," he said in a cheerful voice. In his grip on her arm was a promise to not let her fall.

Sieglinde went with it, and after a giggle Lizzie did so as well. The blonde, though, didn't stop smiling in their direction.

Edward was a bit red by the time they were in the hall, but he held his head high and escorted her to her seat, pulling it out for her before taking his own seat placed away from hers and starting up a conversation with one of the hosts.

There were eyes on her, and it wasn't because she was – supposedly, 'officially' – related to the known-but-not-often-present Lord Diedrich, she knew that. To confirm her suspicions, she glanced at the marchioness and the marquis being chatted up by the host, and found the former looking as stoic as she usually did, but the latter beaming in her and Edward's direction.

The lady of the household was a cheerful woman, and she dragged Lizzie and her into a conversation about the latest fashions. Sieglinde, in an effort to work on her communications skill, offered a few polite comments and questions about colours, styles and preferences, but let Lizzie take over. The girl was in her element, eyes shining and sparkling as she practically exhaled enthusiasm. Listening to her, Sieglinde found herself wondering what chiffon felt like, and whether the lace she was partial to would go with it.

Dinner was wonderful; roast beef with a sweet red sauce, potatoes made beautifully smooth, greens both fresh and cooked to tenderness with tangy herbs. For dessert, they moved to the parlour.

When she stood up from the dinner table, Edward had all but leapt from his seat, abandoning the son of the host he had been talking to in favour of taking her arm to support her. She had smiled at him and he had smiled back, and then, his arm warm against the crook of hers even through the fabric of their clothes, he had taken her to the dining room and made sure she was comfortably seated with a satisfactory dessert of her own before taking leave with a polite bow of his head. Always the gentleman.

Lizzie giggled into her cake. When Sieglinde had – indignantly, blushing for a reason she wasn't sure she wanted to identify – asked her what was so funny to her, the older girl merely shook her head and changed the topic. "It's a nice cake," she said, gesturing slightly with her fork at the slice of cake. Then she lowered her voice to not let the hosting family pick up on her next words. "But I think Sebastian's ruined all other sweets for me."

Sieglinde had to agree to that. Ciel's butler was just too talented for his own good.

And then the hostess joined them again, and somehow the conversation turned from fashion to wedding dresses to weddings. "I have Ciel," Lizzie said, simply, loyally. Sieglinde admired that about the girl, just how devoted she was to her fiancé.

The hostess said a few kind words about the Earl of Phantomhive – Sieglinde wondered if the woman knew that the thirteen year old boy she found adorable was the Queen's Watchdog who had gone through more than she would ever see in her entire life – before turning to her. "And you, dear?"

It wouldn't have been a question out of sorts. In fact, it sounded like one asked to be polite, because by asking her about a fiancé the lady was including her in the conversation instead of leaving her out.

Except, well, her tone and her expectant gaze made it rather clear that the question hadn't been asked for the sake of politeness, but from genuine curiosity.

Marriage? She had once considered a lot of what she now had been taught to classify as 'inappropriate', but marriage hadn't come into her mind very often. It hadn't been taught very much in the forest's village where there were only women and Wolf, and once she had arrived in Britain with a new identity she had been just too busy learning about the new world she was thrust into and learning information in terms unrelated to magic to actually consider such things, other than to understand the basics of societal expectations.

"I'm not betrothed," she answered, and definitely saw a flash of surprise flit across the woman's face.

It passed, and a few minutes later the lady called her son over to introduce them properly. He was a nice young man, with decent looks and a pleasant enough voice. He asked her how different she found Britain from Germany, and she managed to answer the question without giving anything important away – like how she wouldn't really know, because for most of her life she had lived in a lie until recent years – before she turned the tables on him. Once she got him talking about himself, she didn't have to worry about her tongue slipping.

When they returned home, she found that she couldn't quite remember the specifics of the young man's face. It had been nice enough to look at, she reflected as she gave her feet their daily soak in warm water, but bland enough to be forgotten easily. There wasn't a sort of radiance present in his countenance, something memorable enough for her to remember without trying, like the sun burning its silhouette into her eyes when she tried to stare it down. All the other significant men in her life, even Lord Diedrich whom she had only met briefly before being shipped to Britain, had been memorable.

But then again, she thought wryly, wiggling her feet in the cooling water. She knew very few men at all. Sebastian and Ciel; Edward and the Marquis; the Indian Prince Soma and his butler Agni; Lord Diedrich; the Chinese man Lau; Wolf –

She stopped moving her feet. Not bound constantly and put in shoes as loose as possible, they were a bit bigger than they had been back in her time as the Green Witch. The difference wasn't visible to her eye unless she placed her foot next to one of her old shoes – something she hadn't quite been able to throw out for the sake of sentimentalities – but they were definitely loosening.

The doctor who had seen her feet was an optimist. He said that because she was so young, there was a better chance of recovery.

Sieglinde doubted that they would ever be normal, but she could hope to walk without wincing or being forced to rely on someone for their help all the time. It gave her a sense of helplessness, and the feeling of responsibility her time as the Green Witch had not left her even as she knew the truth.

Not that it wasn't nice, getting Edward's – or another's – help; she just didn't want to be helpless. She wanted to be like Lizzie – confident, able to fight and defend herself.

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><p>an1: I swear that this story is not always about partying the plot picks up in later chapters I promise.<p>

an2: thank my spiking cortisol levels for this chapter being uploaded early.

an3: of course Sieglinde met Lau and Soma Ciel needed to make sure she adjusted. Lau = help with treating bound feet, Soma = need someone with warm personality to make her open up other than Midfords. Or so I say.


	3. this is not goodbye

Two more parties – Christmas with friends at Ciel's, and New Year's at the Midford Manor, both led by Lizzie and a group of friends with more than enough excitement in them – and then Edward's winter break was up, and he was returning to his school once more.

At the entrance of the manor, Edward stood, hat and travel clothes on. His family stood at the entrance to bid him goodbye. The marchioness wasn't as outward with her emotions as the other two were – Lizzie and the marquis was bawling – but even she looked more saddened than serious.

Sieglinde stood to the side, observing them from a bit afar as the marchioness departed last words of wisdom to Edward, who took them in like they were holy. "I know it's your last year, and studies will be harder than ever, especially because you're a prefect in charge of leading your house," she said, "but you must persevere. A man without knowledge is a brute, and a brute cannot be a proper gentleman, let alone a knight. To be a knight is to have purpose in swinging one's blade, and to know and understand the consequences of one's actions."

The marquis clapped his hand on Edward's shoulder. "I am so _proud_ of you," he said, and his usually deep voice was throaty with tears. "_We_ are so proud of you. It feels just like yesterday when I was holding you, a strong baby bawling in my arms, and now look at you, all grown up and in your final year at Weston. Your mother's right, as usual, Edward. A knight needs to know not only how, but when to use the blade."

Lizzie stopped her sobbing long enough to chip in. "And who to use it for," she said, sniffing and wiping away her tears with a cutely embroidered handkerchief. "Who to protect."

Edward nodded, and gave fierce hugs to each member of his family. He turned, and when he saw Sieglinde he paused before taking her hand and brushing his lips against its back.

Of course. Because she wasn't family.

He must have seen disappointment on her face when he straightened, because he gave a bit of a crooked smile – almost in resignation – before he gave her a hug as fierce as the one he'd given to his family. Startled and a bit taken aback, she didn't get a chance to return it before he withdrew his arms, but it had done its job. She felt more included, and a little bit happier.

"Study hard as well, Sieglinde," he told her. "Save people. Create magic."

He, like Lizzie, had been told about her background back when it was first arranged for her to stay with them for the indeterminate future. Not all of the details of her anomalous life, just the basic overview and a few points to be cautious with in order to avoid hurting her.

He knew, from talking to her, that she wanted to become a doctor, or a scientist that could save people. Create miracles with science. He witnessed her study hard, observed her sneak off with books and saw his parents look high and low for more materials to study from and experiment with.

She didn't believe in magic, not anymore, but she knew what he was talking about when he said that. "I will," she said, reinforcing her vow to help people. Then, in a moment of impulsiveness she added, "And I'll write you all about what I learn so you'll know just how well I'm doing in my studies."

He grinned. "I'll hold you to that," he said. "Take care of yourself, alright?"

She nodded. "Have fun." Sieglinde wasn't sure what exactly the school was like, but from the stories Edward had shared it had sounded like he liked the time he spent there. 'Have fun' seemed to be the most appropriate thing to say in this situation.

"I will," he promised. Then, it was time for him to get in the carriage that would take him to his boarding school. He got in, but stayed glued to the window waving at them. Likewise, Sieglinde and the Midfords stood at the front of the manor waving until they couldn't see the coach in the distance anymore. They stayed a little longer, standing outside and looking off into the direction the carriage had gone, almost afraid of breaking the silence that had settled over them.

The marquis broke it first, in the end. "Shall we see if the chef has something to snack on?" he asked, sweeping up Sieglinde and Lizzie in his arms. Both of them squealed a bit, but it was in joy, not pain.

"Your teeth will rot," the marchioness reprimanded, but she never actually forbade them. Smiling, she joined them in their march to the kitchen where the chef had slices of lemon cream cake waiting for the family.

Despite the sweet snack, the family was quieter than usual throughout the rest of the day. It was odd, since Edward wasn't exactly loud and overbearing in conversations, but his missing presence was sorely felt. It was a lot clearer especially to Sieglinde, now that she had gotten used to Edward actively interacting with her. Before, when they weren't really on speaking terms, she hadn't noticed his missing presence very much, but now, it was acutely clear.

After a dinner that felt empty, Sieglinde climbed the stairs by herself, feeling that her cane was inadequate in helping her walk, and tried to study with the latest book the marchioness had brought for her on world history. When she found herself reading the same line ten times, over and over again, without once remembering just what it was about, she gave up on it and went to bed in hopes of having sleep clear her head.

Unfortunately, her attempt to sleep didn't have the effect of clearing her head like she had hoped. Not only that, but she found herself tossing and turning until it was far past her usual bedtime.

Sieglinde gave up on sleep, and brought out a blank piece of paper and a pen to write with. _I'm not exactly sure what you learn at your school,_ she began with after the customary 'Dear Edward', _but I don't think it's as difficult as the things I learn. Is that why you never told me?_

The words just came out of her pen like she was speaking them to him, in person. They were on paper and couldn't carry the teasing tone she was thinking of when she let the ink form the letters, but she wrote them down anyways. She wrote and wrote and wrote until her hand began to cramp and she began feeling tired, but she didn't stop until the paper was filled with her writing and she was signing her name on the bottom of the page. Satisfied, she put away her writing utensils and headed back to bed, leaving the letter to dry on the desk.

This time, sleep didn't evade her for long after she had crawled in between her sheets and laid her head down on the pillow. She dreamed of walking all by herself, without any help from anyone. Despite that, someone still walked next to her. Sieglinde didn't remember who that person was when she woke up the next morning.

* * *

><p>an: originally this was one long chapter but I split it into two<p>

an2: realized that Diedrich is actually Dee's _first_ name whoops oh well? I'll change it when his last name comes out or something.

an3: we do not talk about the parties of Christmas and new years


	4. royal appointment

Edward had returned to Weston for a week when the Queen sent another invitation for tea. Lizzie slumped when she heard the news, because the date coincided with when the two had made plans to go to London to visit sweet shops together. Since one simply did not refuse an invitation from the Queen unless one was about to fall off one's deathbed, they had to cancel the plans to go shopping instead.

Lizzie was disappointed, but she was smart and understood the way the world worked. She cheered herself up and promised to find Sieglinde some more books to read soon enough.

Great – she'd gone through the last stack of romance novels like they were candy. She needed more.

But that was thought for later on, when she was done her meeting with the Queen. Right now she needed to focus on meeting the monarch of the British Empire. Dressed in a simple but classic dress – in the words and works of Nina Hopkins – she stepped out of the carriage and bid Thomas, the Midford footman, goodbye as a man strode up to escort her. The Queen, thoughtful as always, had sent one of her personal men to help her – the groom.

Sieglinde took his offered arm gratefully; Charles Grey, after Ciel's warnings, made her wary, while the quieter Phipps who reminded her of Wolfram for some reason made her uncomfortable. John Brown, at the least, was a neutral presence.

He gripped her forearm a little too hard when she leaned on him for support, and she frowned. She'd grown spoiled and used to Edward, and now he'd be gone for a long time. The manor still felt emptier without him.

Mistaking the frown, the Queen's groom apologized before adjusting his grip. It was better – not as good as Edward's, but she wasn't about to start complaining to the Queen's groom about how a young man did a job better than he did. They stepped forwards, navigating through the light, lit halls to a large, spacious tea room.

The Double Charles were preparing tea as she entered on John Brown's arm. Tea cakes and scones, set up next to beautiful china cups and saucers, looked almost as delicious as the snacks Sebastian made when she and Lizzie visited the Phantomhive mansion.

The Queen smiled at her, and the crow's feet on the edges of her wise twinkling eyes deepened. Her mother, thanks to the accident, had looked like an old hag, and her features had looked twisted, deformed by the passing of time and bitterness hidden in her heart. Unlike her mother, Queen Victoria's face was round and soft with kindness and gentleness despite being old enough to be a grandmother, or a great-grandmother. There was no trace of spite or hatred twisting her face up into a hag's.

Sieglinde took a sip of her tea. "Ceylon?" she asked her guess, and was rewarded with the Queen's smile.

This was her third time having an audience with the Queen. She wasn't blind or stupid now, especially not after so many lessons from the marchioness about what drove all sorts of different people in society, including even the ones on the holy pinnacle of the empire, hidden behind veils of careful planning and double spoken words. Like Ciel had told her back in the forest when he offered her a choice, she would be useful to any large, ambitious country with her knowledge on chemical weapons. She understood that she was more valuable as a creator of destruction and death rather than solutions and medicine that could save people like magic.

Every second she was in the presence of the Queen, Sieglinde was tensed up despite the sovereign's serene appearance. She always expected for the monarch to ask about developing weapons for Britain, or giving the formula for what she had thought to be the 'Ultimate Magic'. Every second she waited for the other shoe to drop, to be taken away from her dream of making amends and saving people with medicine so effective it would almost be magical.

The Queen, this time, started off with a question that caught her off-guard. "What is your opinion of Edward Midford?"

Sieglinde paused in her reach for a pastry. "Pardon me?" she asked in German. The Queen understood – she had relatives in Germany, and loved any chance to practice her languages.

There was another smile from the old woman, but this time it was mischievous. "I've been hearing some things amongst the ladies recently," she said airily.

Uh-oh, she didn't like the sounds of that very much. Sieglinde put the cup down. "What kind of things?" she asked carefully.

The crow's feet deepened, and the old woman looked downright devious. A prankster in queen's clothing, that's what Victoria was right now. "Nothing important or credible," she said casually. "But you must admit, Edward Midford is quite the dashing young man. Why, if I was around his age, I would consider marrying him!"

Then her face crumpled. "Oh, Albert," she wailed into a handkerchief as the groom stepped forwards dutifully with his puppet in hand, prepared to do his duty. "Why did you leave me?"

"Victoria," the groom said in complete deadpan, holding up his ever-present Albert puppet, "I'm right here with you. Please, we have a young lady over as a guest."

"Y-you're right, Albert, as usual."

The first time she'd seen this, she had been a little disturbed. She had wondered if the Queen of Britain was insane, if she was grieving, even entertained the possibility that the woman saw her husband's ghost channeled through the groom (before reminding herself that magic had been a lie and she wasn't a witch). Now she knew to wait, and found it sweet how the Queen was so devoted to her marriage, even after her partner had died.

Marriage. Their hostess from the dinner party not long ago had mentioned it before. She still had no definite thoughts, but if she was to get married, she decided that she would want to love her husband like the Midfords did, like Victoria did.

John Brown stood up, the Albert puppet in his hands as the Queen wiped away the last traces of her latest outburst of grief.

. . . Maybe not _quite_ like Victoria did. But definitely someone she could rely and depend on when she needed to, yet respect her enough to give her the liberty to do what she wanted to do with her life.

The Queen turned back to her, tears from her eyes wiped away. "But my dear girl, my point remains. What do you think of Edward Midford?"

Sieglinde had been taught how to maneuver conversations to avoid revealing unnecessary information, but the woman in front of her had literally _decades_ of experience cornering slippery speakers _and_ getting the results she wanted from them. As good as a tutor Marchioness Midford had been, Sieglinde didn't even have the _hope_ of a chance against the Queen.

"He's a perfect gentleman," she said, remembering Edward and his determination to always be a good example of a British gentleman. It was an important trait in the Midford family.

The Queen nodded. "Yes, I do hear that. His father's so proud of him. It's only a matter of time until a lucky lady snatches him up for herself."

At Sieglinde's puzzled look, the Queen smiled. It was much less mischievous than the one before her regular Albert Outburst, but it still had a lot of whimsy in it. Too much for her to put her guard down just yet. "With Elizabeth engaged to that boy and all, it isn't right for the older to not be engaged as well," she explained. "I imagine that his parents are looking very hard for a suitable girl. The Bluer family, you know, has a number of daughters still unengaged. I imagine they'd just love for a marriage to be arranged between one of their girls and young Edward."

Marriage? She could barely picture it for herself, and for Edward it wasn't much easier. Would marriage change him from the person he was now?

Right now, Edward was . . . .

A prudish young man who felt shame in proxy for women who revealed their legs.

An overprotective older brother.

A student who replied to the letters sent from his family and family's ward with separate replies for each of them.

A British Knight.

A British gentleman.

. . . A friend.

Sieglinde hoped that he wouldn't change too much. Change would be inevitable, with something as big as marriage, but she was finally comfortable around him, and she didn't want to lose that as surely as she would lose the gentleman that 'escorted' (read: practically carried) her to places to let her have fun, the student that alternated between intelligent worries and teasing jokes in his reply letter.

Behind the tea cup she had lifted to her lips, the Queen smiled. "I hope the ladies with interest in him will act quickly," she said, deliberately not looking at the little witch but instead at the warm, red-tinted tea in her cup. "Otherwise he'll be gone before they can blink."

Sieglinde blinked in confusion, but the Queen merely moved onto a different topic.


	5. nightmares

Sometimes, Sieglinde woke up drenched in cold sweat, her sheets and nightgown tangled all around her legs. Her feet would throb, probably from all the churning of sheets they had done while she'd been sleeping.

Not that anyone could really call that restless shuteye 'sleeping'.

Tonight was one of those nights. Sieglinde climbed out of her bed after untangling the sheets from her legs and smoothing out her nightgown. The first time the nightmares had come, she had tried to scramble out of her bed and nearly fallen flat on her face as a result of getting all tangled up. A pillow that had been fortuitously dropped to the ground during her sleep had been the only thing to save her from a broken nose or a knocked-out tooth.

Now she knew better. She willed herself to stay on her bed instead of flailing to go charging out and waited until her breathing slowed and her heart stopped beating so fast and furiously. Once she was calmed, she pulled a dressing gown over herself and then grabbed her cane. Her usual slippers – the ones custom made to have supports for her weak feet – were under the bedside table. She dragged them out with the tip of her cane and slipped them on before she stood.

The first times early on when nightmares had been frequent, she had merely stood outside her room in the hallway after every episode, her blankets wrapped around her like a cocoon as she stared outside of a window, searching for the bit of lightening sky that signified dawn in the darkness of the night.

When the chef, who had heard sounds, had come to investigate at the third episode, he had thrown a fit before giving her some warm and soft food, as well as instructions on how to pull the bell to summon servants.

Even after that she didn't used the bell, so he and some of the other servants – who had found out through the gossip vines – had instead taught her where midnight snacks would be kept. It wasn't just for her, they added when she tried to protest at the extra work they would have to go through for her sake. The marquis came down frequently for extra helpings of dessert his wife frowned upon at the dinner table, they promised, and sometimes Lady Elizabeth and even Lord Edward joined him in the midnight snacking.

They hadn't been lying for her sake – sometimes, there were only a few scraps of whatever food that had been left behind waiting when she got to the kitchen.

Now Sieglinde climbed down the stairs, holding tightly onto the banisters, before moving into the kitchen. The chef wasn't there, but he would be soon, so he could get busy with working on the breakfast of the day.

She reached for the covered dish to see what had been left behind for the night. Bread pudding today, with treacle. Yum.

After cutting a slice for herself and placing it on a prettily painted saucer, Sieglinde internally debated with herself on whether it would be better to warm it up or not. On one hand, the bread pudding would most likely melt in her mouth when warm and the taste would be absolutely divine. On the other hand, she didn't want to stay longer in case the chef came back, and the bread pudding would still be delicious eaten cold.

Chef was very territorial of the kitchen. He had been the one to teach her how to use the oven and was also the one to leave the covered dish that had the midnight snacks on a place low enough for her to reach without having to struggle, but he didn't like it when he had people in his kitchen, especially when he was working. Soon it would be time for him to walk in, beginning the preparations for the day's breakfast.

Deciding to eat it cold, she grabbed a fork and stuck it through the cold bread pudding before walking out, careful to not tip the saucer in her hands and spill the snack onto the ground.

Once she was out of the kitchen, Sieglinde wandered around the quiet first floor for a bit before eventually settling for sitting on the bottom of the steps. She took a bite out of the bread pudding, and while it was cold, it was deliciously sweet, treacle-softened raisins buried here and there with a spiced tang on the side. Cinnamon, maybe. She loved cinnamon. It always helped soften the pain of the nightmares when they came.

The nightmares were always the same in what they showed, but not in their order. Sometimes she would see her life, from when she hadn't understood anything to when the horrifying truth had first struck her. Sometimes she would see her feet, getting broken and broken over and over again, but with no reason to have them broken except to torment her, to torture her. Sometimes she would see everyone dead from her 'Ultimate Magic', and somehow know that it was all her fault, every last life gone.

Sometimes she would see Sebastian, eyes red like blood, fighting off every enemy like a whirling, smiling demon as Ciel shouted and his normally covered eye gleamed, burning with something she didn't understand, didn't want to understand.

Sometimes she would see Wolfram, fierce face softening in her direction before his eyes would widen in a mix of pain, shock and fear. He would open his mouth – probably to scream for her – only to cough out a large amount of blood before collapsing, throat ripped out by a man in werewolf getup.

For every time she saw something that had her waking up with her heart in her throat, her body drenched in sweat, she got a little more confused on just what had happened back in Germany. There was reality in those horrifying dreams that made her a prisoner inside her own mind, but there were also lies; things that weren't real but figments of her imagination twisted to make her terrified. More and more she found that the lines differing memory and imagination was blurring when it came to their appearances in her nightmares. She didn't know what was real, and what wasn't.

When she worked up the nerve to tell the marquis about them after a particularly bad night, he told her that sometimes, the mind made up things in order to hide the truth because the truth was too harsh to face consciously. Whatever her mind was trying to hide, he said, was probably something too terrifying for her to face at the moment.

She found that she didn't really want to know. This was a new life for her. Whatever had happened in the woods, she wanted nothing more than to leave it behind and say goodbye to the lies she had taken as the truth for so long.

There was a soft rustle. Sieglinde looked up to see the marchioness sit down next to her. The older woman had her hair down, and the long length of wavy gold easily reached her waist. With her hair down like this, she looked much less harsh and strict than she normally did.

Sieglinde smiled when she saw a saucer with a slice of bread pudding in Francis Midford's hand.

The marchioness gave her a wry smile before taking a bite out of her own bread pudding. "That inappropriate butler of my nephew's may make good dessert," she said, "but I personally prefer Reginald's bread pudding. He's got sense for a chef, reusing stale bread."

She was sure Sebastian could – and probably _did_ – do the same, but she kept her mouth shut. Discussing desserts and work ethics of servants wasn't why the marchioness was sitting with her at all.

Francis Midford was a tough woman, but she could be kind and gentle when she wanted to. Her eyes softened. "Enjoy your time while you're young," she advised Sieglinde, putting her fork down for a second.

Sieglinde took in a large mouthful of bread pudding to avoid answering. Between the obvious avoidance of engaging with the comment and talking with her mouth full, spitting out muffled words along with bits of chewed food was the greater faux pas.

The marchioness sighed. "The Queen sent Alexis a letter," she told Sieglinde, who had just swallowed her large mouthful of bread pudding.

Her mouth, coated with treacle and sugar, felt drier than a desert. "And?" she croaked out.

Lizzie's mother looked stressed, like she could use a good cup of tea at the moment. "She informed us that she'll be sending a tutor to aid your education."

Ah. There was the other shoe dropping, the one they'd all been waiting for.

* * *

><p>an: sorry it's late I was working on a story about the Christmas and New Year's party, and then I found that they were terrible so I let it die because RL killed all my time.<p>

And no, Sieglinde doesn't know what happened to the people back in the village, even Wolfram. She has nightmares about it, but she doesn't know, and she doesn't really want to know.


End file.
